


Fragments of Fódlan

by Arvanion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Chess, Competition, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Hair Braiding, Introspection, Loyalty, Military Training, Napping, Nobility, Past Abuse, Pastries, Relationship Advice, Skipping Class, Social Anxiety, Tea Parties, Weapon Maintenance, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvanion/pseuds/Arvanion
Summary: A series of canon-compliant ficlets about the characters ofFire Emblem: Three Houses.They're focused primarily on relationships and characters rather than any events in particular, though all major spoilers will be clearly marked in the chapter summary.





	1. Learning from the Best (Jeralt, F!Byleth, & Alois)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and his family try to enjoy a quiet day of fishing.

Jeralt Eisner and his daughter were a study in contrasts.

Jeralt was lean and rangy, the skin of his face tanned and scarred like weathered wood, his unruly blond hair pulled back into a short and tight braid at the base of his neck. Despite his newly regained position in the Knights of Seiros, he still stubbornly sported the same faded surcoat he'd worn as a mercenary. Byleth shared her father's muscular build, but was darker of hair and eye. Since coming to Garreg Mach, she'd traded in her mercenary gear for a uniform more befitting of a professor at the Officers' Academy.

Yet despite all their differences, anyone who looked at them at this moment would know their relationship instantly. It was in the set of their brows, the way they held their fishing rods, and their focus on the water in front of them, to the exclusion of all else.

"Fish seem lazy today," observed Jeralt, in a voice barely audible over the rustle of wind.

Byleth nodded, replying at a similar volume. "Sunlight's making them sleepy, I bet."

They lapsed into silence once again, staring out at the water. Jeralt took a hand off his pole to take a quick swig from his flask.

Byleth's focus sharpened as she saw her bobber shift in the water, sending small ripples toward the shore. Through the clear water of the monastery pond, she could make out the shape of a fish nosing experimentally at the bait.

"That's right," she murmured to herself, adjusting her grip on the rod. "Come and get the nice, tasty snail. You know you want to--"

"Ah, good afternoon, Captain!"

Byleth jerked in surprise at the sound of a jovial, booming voice, losing her concentration as she turned to see Alois. The knight gave the two of them a jaunty wave as he approached, grinning broadly.

"Fishing, eh? I see you haven't changed a bit," he said--_far _too loudly, as far as Byleth was concerned. She glanced back to the water to see that the fish investigating her bait had fled, and muttered a curse under her breath.

"Alois," said Jeralt, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Good afternoon."

"A wonderful afternoon for fishing, don't you think?" Alois strode past them to the fishkeeper's shed, selecting a rod of his own. "I should have known you'd have the same idea as me."

"You mean you still haven't given up on fishing?" asked Jeralt, raising a brow. Alois scoffed, waving his hand.

"Of course not! I may not be as fine an angler as yourself, but I have faith I'll get there yet!"

"Is that so?" said Jeralt, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his tone.

"Did the two of you fish together often?" asked Byleth. Her father had always been tight-lipped about his past, and she saw this as a good opportunity to find out more about him.

Alois nodded. "Almost every month! Though he was much better as it than I was. I'd wager he probably still is!"

"I can't imagine why," said Byleth, her voice dry. Jeralt coughed into his hand, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"What about you, Professor?" said Alois, casting his line. "How do you measure up?"

"She can give me a run for my money," said Jeralt with a faint smile.

Byleth shot her father a lazy wink. "I learned from the best, after all."

"I did, too," said Alois. "But I can't seem to get the same results."

"There's a difference between _learning from _and _sitting next to_," said Jeralt, chuckling. "I'd say you fall firmly into the latter camp."

Byleth stifled a laugh of her own at Alois's look of comical dismay. "Cheer up," she told him in as serious a voice as she could muster. "It's never too late to learn."

The knight's face brightened immediately. "Yes, of course you're right. Just as I would expect from a professor--always taking opportunities to teach. I knew I was right to recommend you for a position. So, how would you recommend I proceed if I want to reach your level of skill?"

Jeralt and Byleth exchanged a knowing look.

"The first step," said Jeralt, "is to shut up."


	2. In Higher Circles (Dorothea & Ingrid)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure of how she's expected to behave around fellow nobles, Ingrid goes to a commoner for advice.

Choir practice was coming to an end, and the students were filtering out of the church, when Ingrid finally gathered up the resolve to ask a favor. "Dorothea, do you have a moment?"

"For you, Ingrid? Always." Dorothea winked as she straightened up her sheet music before slipping it into her bag. "Anything I can do for you?"

"It's about the ball at the end of next month," said Ingrid, frowning. "I've been corresponding with Father about it..."

"And what does Lord Galatea have to say on the matter?"

Ingrid scratched at her cheek, looking a bit sheepish. "He thinks it will be a good opportunity for me to interact with potential suitors."

"I daresay he's right about that," said Dorothea. "There's certainly no shortage of eligible partners at the Officers' Academy. But that still doesn't answer my question. How can I help?"

"I had hoped that you would be able to give me some advice regarding... well, everything. My choice of wardrobe, how I comport myself, who I speak to, and so forth."

"Oh, Ingrid." Dorothea smiled. "I'm flattered that you would ask my advice, and of course I will do everything I can, but why come to me specifically? Isn't this the kind of advice you'd want to ask of a fellow noble?"

"Absolutely not!" said Ingrid emphatically. She blushed faintly at her outburst and cleared her throat. "I mean, I suppose that you would be right in theory, but can you imagine trying to get advice about this sort of thing from Annette? Or even worse, _Sylvain_?"

"Point taken," said Dorothea, giggling.

"And I know there are plenty of other nobles around that I could talk to, but I knew that if I asked _you_, you would understand. I feel like, when it comes to this, we have something in common."

Dorothea considered that for a moment. "Yes, I suppose so. I'm looking for a partner to secure my future; you're looking for one to secure House Galatea's. In a way, we're practically doing the same thing."

"I knew you'd understand," said Ingrid with a relieved smile. "So, how does one go about moving in higher circles? Is there a sort of trick to it, or...?"

"I'll share all my tricks with you, but first..." Dorothea looked around. "Why don't we head out to the garden and discuss this over tea? I'll make your favorite chamomile!"

"I'd like that," said Ingrid. "Hopefully some training from you will be enough to make up for my shortcomings." She gave Dorothea a formal bow, only a little jokingly. "I humbly request of you: please, help me polish up my manners."

Dorothea laughed and winked at Ingrid again. "By the time we're finished, you'll be so polished that anyone who looks at you will be blinded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by rose-of-the-wind!


	3. Stalemate (Edelgard & Claude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future leaders of the Alliance and Empire take each other's measure during a game of chess.

Edelgard's white-gloved hand hovered over the board for a moment before lifting the white queen and sliding it several spaces over. "Check."

"So it is," said Claude. He took only a moment to respond to the move, pushing a black pawn forward to cut off the diagonal. "Back to you, Your Imperiousness."

They had been playing for almost a half-hour by now, seated in the monastery's reception hall with the board on the table between them. Claude had given Edelgard choice of side, and she had selected white--indicative, in Claude's opinion, of her desire to strategize proactively and seize the initiative from the very first move.

Edelgard seemed to hold the upper hand at the moment: her white pieces outnumbered Claude's black ones, and she positioned them aggressively, keeping her opponent on the defensive.

"Hmm." Edelgard rested her elbow on the table, hand held in front of her mouth to mask her expression. Claude watched her with half-lidded eyes, noting the appraising glances she was giving his defenses.

"I've got to admit, Princess, I'm pleasantly surprised you actually deigned to accept my challenge," he said.

"What reason would I have to decline?" said Edelgard. She moved one of her pawns forward, freeing up space for her back rank.

"Oh, you know." Claude twirled a finger around the top of a rook before sliding it to the same file as one of his bishops.

"If I knew, I would not be asking you."

They exchanged another series of moves in silence before Claude spoke up again. "You're the future Emperor, aren't you? Figured you'd have better things to do than exchange empty pleasantries with some back-country lord."

"Spare me the false humility," said Edelgard with a thin smile. "Derdriu is hardly a backwater, and even if it were, I can only benefit from learning more about the people I will be negotiating with in the future." She swept another black pawn off the board, depositing it at the end of the neat row she'd made from the other captured pieces.

"You're right," sighed Claude. "Maybe I should act a little more respectful, huh?"

"I wouldn't go _that _far," said Edelgard with a soft chuckle. "As irritating as you may sometimes be, I do enjoy our verbal sparring. It's certainly much more entertaining than debating Ferdinand."

Claude smirked. "I imagine most anything would be." His eyes followed Edelgard's white knight across the board as it moved to threaten his own queen, and despite the seemingly unfavorable situation, he let out a pleased hum. "Let's see..." He moved his queen in a long diagonal, finally settling it on a space adjacent to the white king. "Check."

There was only one move for Edelgard to make: she took the queen with her king, adding it to the line of prisoners. "Quite the bold sacrifice," she said.

Claude winked at her and moved his bishop into a square threatening Edelgard's own queen. In doing so, he freed up the file for the rook behind it. "Discovered check."

Edelgard clicked her tongue in irritation, but made no effort to hide the admiring note in her voice. "Well played."

Her king retreated, and Claude took the white queen, dropping it casually alongside the few other pieces he'd taken. It clattered on the table as Edelgard took her next move.

They carried on with their game, but the momentum had shifted slightly into Claude's favor. Through shrewdly trading pieces, using pins and forks to his advantage, Claude began to make up some of the ground he'd lost--though Edelgard still stubbornly held to a slim lead.

At last, after a series of inconclusive moves, Edelgard leaned away from the table and sighed. "I suppose we must call it a draw."

"Stalemate," agreed Claude. He toyed with one of the captured pawns. "Thank you for humoring me, Your Highness."

"Not at all. I enjoyed the game as well." Edelgard tapped a finger on the table. "Though I must admit, being unable to close out a victory was quite frustrating."

"That's the difference between us," said Claude with another lazy wink. "You play to win. _I _play not to lose."

"I shall be sure to take that into account when we next play." Edelgard stood, the scraping of her bench against the floor loud in the almost empty room. "Would you like help straightening up, or...?"

"Nah, I can take care of it," said Claude. "The set's mine, after all."

Edelgard inclined her head. "Well then. Until next time, Claude." She turned and left the room, her footsteps quickly fading into the distance.

Claude gathered up the pieces and settled them into their proper spots in the box. He left the white king for last, thumb lightly tracing the Crest of Seiros carved into the pale wood.

_Something tells me that in the future, we will play with a board and pieces far grander than these._

He settled the king into place and, smiling faintly, closed the lid of the box. _Until next time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dorkling2! Thanks for the prompt ^_^


	4. Another Vow (Catherine/Shamir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Part I, White Clouds_

Shamir sat overlooking the valley of Garreg Mach, lantern on the bench beside her, running her fingers along her bowstring. Her hands were bare: she needed to feel even the slightest changes in the string, and her senses would be dulled through the gloves she habitually wore.

_Even a single frayed thread can prove deadly, if left alone._

Having satisfied herself with the integrity of her bowstring, Shamir set her bow aside and picked up her quiver. She removed her arrows one by one, meticulously checking each of them for irregularities.

She closed one eye and peered along the shaft of an arrow. If the fletching was misaligned or the wood was warped, no matter how slightly, it would alter how the arrow flew. For a common soldier, accustomed to firing in volleys with a squad of comrades, it would make little difference, but for a Knight of Seiros, only perfection would do.

Despite her focus on her task, Shamir was not deaf to what was going on around her. She could hear faint but distinctive boot-steps approaching from behind. The softness of the steps suggested that whoever it was was making an attempt to be stealthy.

_None of the guards would be trying to hide their presence. Which means..._

Shamir spoke without turning her head. "Evening, Catherine."

There was a huff of frustration from behind her, followed by the other knight's voice. "I should have known better than to think I could surprise you."

"I'm amazed you still make the effort." Shamir lowered the arrow, setting it aside. "In four years of trying, you have yet to succeed."

Catherine laughed. "You know me--I'm too stubborn to admit defeat."

"True enough." Shamir didn't say anything more, but she shifted over on the bench, making room for her partner at the other end. Catherine sat, rubbing at the back of her neck--Shamir noticed she was dressed in a plain tunic and trousers, rather than her usual armor, and that her hair was slightly damp. _Must have just returned from the sauna._

"I've got to say, I didn't expect sparring with the professors to leave me feeling so sore," she said. "Jeritza definitely knows his way around a blade. And the new kid..."

"Byleth?"

Catherine snapped her fingers. "That's the one. I think I got their measure, but I can't help but feel like a training match wasn't really satisfying." She grinned. "Now, if we could both cut loose, the Sword of the Creator against my Thunderbrand--"

"I doubt Rhea would approve of that."

"If Byleth agreed to it as well, I'm sure that _Lady _Rhea would allow me to sate my professional curiosity."

"Hmph."

The two of them sat quietly for a while longer as Shamir fingered the fletching of another arrow. As Catherine shifted awkwardly, Shamir broke the silence.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I assume you didn't come find me just for the sake of making small talk." Shamir gently stroked one fingertip along the feather. "And the way you're acting, you obviously have something important on your mind."

Catherine laughed. "Okay, partner, you got me. I guess I'm just... worried."

"Worried about what?"

"This whole business with Lonato, for one." Catherine leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap. "I mean, I can at least understand his hatred for me, after what I did to Christophe. But for someone like him to raise his lance against Lady Rhea and the church itself..."

"Is it surprising to you that Rhea has enemies?"

Catherine threw up her hands helplessly. "I'm not... Goddess, I don't understand any of it. All I know is that there's something going on--something a lot bigger than one lord's rebellion."

"Hm. I think I understand what you're getting at," said Shamir. "There's no need for worry just yet. I'll keep my ear to the ground, just in case." Shamir heard Catherine sigh in frustration and turned to see her rubbing at her forehead. "Did I misread your intentions?"

"Yeah," said Catherine, quickly followed up by, "I mean, no! But..."

"But?" Shamir raised an eyebrow.

Catherine raked a hand back through her hair, mussing it. "I just want you to be careful."

"I am always careful." Shamir began returning her unmarred arrows to their quiver, leaving the others set aside. She'd deliver them to the main storehouse after she was done. "I'll help you protect Rhea, so there is no need to--"

She blinked. Catherine had grabbed her hand. Her callused palms were warm against Shamir's skin, no longer covered by gloves.

"Catherine?"

A hint of color rose in the swordswoman's cheeks, but she didn't relinquish her grip. "This isn't about Lady Rhea, Shamir. It's about you."

_Me__? _thought Shamir. _Why?_

"No matter what happens..." Catherine bit her lip. "Promise me you'll stay safe."

"I won't make a promise I can't keep," said Shamir. "These things are outside my control--"

"Shamir. _Please_."

Shamir met Catherine's eyes and saw utter sincerity, but something deeper behind it. _It reminds me of the way she looks at the archbishop._

"I have no intention of dying," she said at last. "I'll do everything I can to stay alive, and come back to you. Is that good enough for you?"

Catherine hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "All right." She gave Shamir's hand a quick squeeze before abruptly releasing them and standing up. "Well, uh, anyway, I suppose I should get going... don't want to stop you from working or anything."

"It's sweet of you to worry about me," said Shamir, smiling faintly. She saw Catherine tense, her ears going red as she avoided making eye contact.

"I just know it would be impossible to replace you, that's all." The knight cleared her throat. "Anyhow. Goodnight, Shamir."

"Goodnight, Catherine."

Shamir watched for a moment before returning to her gear. She pulled on one glove, but paused before donning the second, looking down at her hand.

Perhaps it was a figment of her imagination, but she could still feel a lingering warmth where Catherine's hands had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by <s>a mysterious anon</s> my wife, who has been telling me how incredibly married these two are since she saw their C support.
> 
> <s>this is also a piece about the inherent eroticism of weapons maintenance</s>


	5. Midnight Snack (Bernadetta & Marianne)

The monastery bells were tolling midnight as Bernadetta eased open the door of her room and looked around. Having satisfied herself that nobody else was around, she stepped outside, taking care to make as little noise as possible as she closed the door behind her.

_Don't want anyone to hear me sneaking out. They'd probably ask questions, and I'd have to answer them, and that's the last thing I need._

It had only been a few days since Bernadetta had arrived at the monastery (or, to be more precise, found herself there), and she was still having trouble adjusting to the new environment. The professors were kind enough, and she had no doubt they were trying their best to help, but there was only so much they could do.

Bernadetta squeaked in surprise as she heard an odd noise, but blushed a moment later when she realized it was only her stomach rumbling. "Oh, Bernie," she admonished herself in a low mutter. "This is what you get for not keeping enough snacks around."

She darted across the path, grateful that her uniform blended in well with the darkness, and sighed in relief as she reached the comforting shadow of the mess hall. _Doesn't look like anyone else is around this time of night. Not that I expected anyone to be._

Bernadetta walked into the dining hall and was immediately proven wrong.

There was a girl--no, an _apparition_ sitting at one of the tables, a book and a candle sitting in front of her. The dim light cast ghastly shadows across her face, illuminating ethereal blue hair, starkly pale skin, and eyes that positively sagged with weariness. In Bernadetta's mind, there was no doubt that such weariness could only have been brought about by untold years of haunting the monastery--perhaps since its very founding.

"WAAAAAAAHHHH!"

"Huh?!" The figure jumped in surprise, chair screeching against the floor as it moved with her. "Who's there?"

Despite her appearance, the girl's voice was definitely _not _ghostly. Bernadetta felt a huge surge of relief, followed by an equally large surge of embarrassment. _Oh, Bernie, you've really done it now..._

"It's just me," she said, stepping forward into the candlelight.

The blue-haired girl looked relieved as well. She glanced over Bernadetta for a few moments before returning her gaze to her book. "Y-you're... one of the other students. From the Black Eagles, right?"

"Yeah. I'm Bernadetta von Varley." _I guess she's wearing the Officers Academy uniform too... _"And you're?"

"M-Marianne von Edmund," the girl replied with a quick bob of her head. "From th-the Golden Deer house."

Bernadetta bowed her head back. "I'm... I'm very sorry I startled you, I was just feeling a bit hungry and I thought I'd come to the dining hall for a midnight snack but I didn't realize anyone would be here..."

"It's okay," said Marianne, wringing her hands nervously. "I was kind of feeling the same way, so..."

Bernadetta noticed, for the first time, a small plate of pastries on the table beside Marianne. _How did I manage to miss that? Goddess, I was scared for no reason... no ghost would be eating sweets!_

"Ah."

There was a long silence, broken only by the soft drip of wax from Marianne's candle.

"Would you, um, like to t-take some?" asked Marianne, sliding the plate closer to the other side of the table.

"Yes! I mean, um, if it's okay with you, that is." At Marianne's nod, Bernadetta darted forward, grabbing a trio of pastries, and stepped back, wary of lingering for too long in someone else's space. "Well I... I guess I got what I came for, so I-I'll be going now!" She bowed again, narrowly avoiding smacking her forehead on the back of a chair. "Goodnight, Marianne!"

"G-goodnight, Bernadetta."

Spoils in hand, Bernadetta made her escape. Outside the door, she took a deep breath of the cool night air and slowly exhaled. _Okay. I think I'll stay inside tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt suggested by rose-of-the-wind. I was kind of surprised these two shy girls didn't have supports together, because they deserve to
> 
> <s>also the second ficlet in a row that ends with characters saying goodnight to each other because I am a hack with no sense of originality</s>


	6. Potential (Jeritza)

The training grounds echoed with the clack of wooden weapons clashing together. Professors Jeritza and Byleth walked along the lines of students and squires as they drilled, ready to correct any mistakes they saw.

"Keep track of the point of your blade!" Byleth called out, her voice carrying easily across the courtyard. "Mind the students around you, and don't get in their way."

Beneath his mask, Jeritza's eyes swept back and forth, appraising his pupils. His impassive expression gave way to a frown of annoyance as he spotted one young woman's movements.

"You. Your footwork is sloppy." Jeritza's voice was soft and carried a hint of lazy disdain--quite the departure from the snappish reprimands of a drill sergeant. Still, it had a similar effect. The student's cheeks flushed guiltily, and she corrected her stance.

"Professor!" a student called. Jeritza half-turned at the sound, but Byleth was closer, quickly making her way over to the questioner.

_Just as well. I have no doubt they prefer her inspection to mine--though she is far too soft with them._

He caught sight of another student's work and sighed. The boy was adding wholly unnecessary one-handed flourishes to the drill, and sacrificing quite a bit of proper technique in the process. Jeritza strode over and gave a sharp chop to the boy's wrist with one gloved hand.

"Ow!" the student yelped, sword clattering to the ground as he reflexively flinched. "What was that for?"

"Keep a better grip on your blade," said Jeritza. "If you cannot even grasp the basics of swordplay, what use is your frivolity? It will not serve you well on the battlefield."

"Professor!" called another voice. Jeritza paid it no mind--no doubt Byleth would deal with it--until the call was repeated. "Professor Jeritza?"

_Someone seeking out my critique in particular? Curious._

Jeritza turned. The boy who had called out to him couldn't have been much older than twelve or thirteen--there was still a trace of baby fat in his cheeks, and he had yet to hit the awkward gangliness of his growth spurt. The boy was far too young to be a student of the academy: he had to be one of the squires to the Knights of Seiros. "What is it?"

"Could you watch my work and tell me what needs fixing?" the boy asked.

"Very well." Jeritza folded his arms, motioning for him to get to it.

The squire made his way through the drill, moving slowly at first but picking up speed as he became more confident. Even though his movements were still somewhat uncertain, neither his footwork nor his grip displayed any glaring faults.

The boy finished the drill and turned back to Jeritza, breathing hard. "So?"

Jeritza shrugged almost imperceptibly. "I have no complaints with your technique. You clearly have a great deal of potential. You could be a strong knight, if you continue this way."

The squire's eyes lit up with excitement. "Are you sure? ...I-I mean, thank you, Professor! That means a lot, coming from a swordsman like you!"

"Hmph." Jeritza turned away, returning his focus to the others.

When the bells tolled the next hour, the lines of students broke apart as each group returned their practice weapons to the racks. Some wasted no time in leaving, eager to beat the rush to the dining hall; others took their time, chatting with each other as they made their way outside.

The squire Jeritza had watched earlier looked back over his shoulder as he headed out and, spotting the professor, smiled and waved cheerily. _How... friendly of him._

"Hey, Jeritza." Byleth strolled up next to him, stretching her arms above her head. "Good work today."

Jeritza said nothing in reply, simply giving Byleth a sidelong glance.

"Are you coming to the dining hall, too?"

_If it is a direct question, I suppose I have no choice but to answer. _"No," he said curtly. "I have training of my own to attend to."

If Byleth was disappointed by his response, she hid it well. "Okay. Well, if you change your mind, I'll save you a spot at the table." She waved in farewell and followed the students out.

Jeritza watched her go, a curious mixture of feelings in his head. Unbidden, a memory came to his mind. "_You should try to be more friendly with people. I wouldn't want my little brother to grow up lonely!_"

"Tch." He felt a flare of irritation. That kindly voice and smile were far in the past, and there was no use dwelling on them. Jeritza had his own path to tread, his own master to serve.

He thought about how the squire had held his blade, and the way his face had lit up after being praised. He would be a strong knight--his knack with a weapon, combined with his determination to work hard and willingness to be corrected, would see to that.

_That, and a nearly blind loyalty to the Church._

Jeritza's lip curled, and beneath the mask, his eyes narrowed. _What a waste of potential._


	7. Braids from Brigid (Dorothea/Petra)

"Dorothea, you have been looking to me for a long time now. Was there something you were wanting to say?"

Petra's tone was playful, but Dorothea twitched guiltily nonetheless. "Oh, sorry, was I? I didn't mean to stare, I was just a bit... curious, I guess."

Petra smiled, setting aside the scroll she had been perusing, and shifted her attention to focus entirely on Dorothea. "Oh? What was the reason for your curiosity?"

"I was trying to figure out how you do your hair," Dorothea admitted, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. "It's really beautiful, and you take such good care of it!"

"It makes me a little embarrassed to hear such praise from you," said Petra, "since I have thought of you as the one in our house with the most beauty."

Dorothea giggled, her blush deepening. "Oh, Petra, there's no need to flatter me."

"It is not flattery!" Petra insisted. "Do not be..." She paused, turning her eyes uncertainly toward the ceiling and furrowing her brow. "Do not be... trading yourself for less? No, that is not quite correct..." Petra cast a pleading glance in Dorothea's direction.

"It's 'don't sell yourself short,'" Dorothea provided helpfully.

Petra grinned, smacking a fist into her palm. "Yes, that is what it is! I have had some learning of Fódlan sayings, but they are still giving me trouble at times."

"I have to say, I'd never noticed how odd some of our sayings were until you pointed it out," said Dorothea.

Laughing, Petra nodded. "I am sorry for moving the conversation. You were having... that is, you had questions about my hair, yes?"

"Right," said Dorothea, leaning forward eagerly. "I've never seen anyone braid that way before. But when I've watched you during training, it never seems to come undone or get in your way, so it's obviously working well for you."

"Indeed! This is a traditional style in Brigid," said Petra. "Our hunters braid their hair tight so that they can move through the forests without fear of catching themselves on branches. It would hurt very much if that happened!"

Dorothea winced at the mental image. "I'm sure it would."

"Were you wanting to learn this of me?" Petra asked. At Dorothea's nod, she looked somewhat puzzled. "But I did not think your hair was causing troubles for you the way it is now..."

"Maybe not," said Dorothea. "I mean, no, it isn't getting in my way, and I _do _like how it is now, but I thought that it would be nice to learn something new. And maybe if..." She trailed off, blushing.

"Yes?"

Dorothea looked to the side, a bit embarrassed. "I thought maybe, if it's okay with you, I could help you out sometimes." She hurriedly pushed on. "I mean, I know I probably wouldn't be as good at it as you, but..."

"Not at all! It would be giving me great joy if you were to help. As the Professor says, it is the thinking..." She shook her head. "No, it is the thought that counts!" she finished, a hint of triumph in her voice.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Dorothea delightedly. "I can't wait to learn how to do it."

"Then it is good you will not have to wait," said Petra, grinning as she began unwinding her braid. "I will show you now." She winked. "You were saying it is rude to stare, but for this it is best to watch closely."

"Absolutely!" said Dorothea, returning Petra's dazzling smile. "I won't miss a thing!"


	8. When All is Dark and Silent (F!Byleth/Edelgard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the end of **Part II: Crimson Flower**.

Byleth woke before dawn to find her wife's side of the bed empty.

She sat up, placing a palm on the tangled sheets. There was no trace of lingering warmth: clearly, Edelgard had been gone for a while already.

_She must have gone out to the garden._

Pulling on a robe, Byleth made her way down the hall. The home she and Edelgard shared was not particularly grand, especially in comparison with the palace at Enbarr. It was situated on the outskirts of Nuvelle, far from the town itself. The floors were wood rather than polished marble, the walls rough-hewn logs. No grand tapestries or mosaics adorned the walls: the only decoration of note was a single painting.

Byleth gave the painting a fond smile as she passed it. Her own face smiled back at her, a little crookedly. It was no masterpiece, but Edelgard had painted it herself, and that made it invaluable.

She opened the door and stepped outside, the flagstones of the garden path cold against her bare feet. Byleth could make out Edelgard's seated silhouette on a bench, swathed in a heavy blanket against the morning chill and dimly illuminated by a lantern set at her feet.

"El," she called softly.

Edelgard turned. "Byleth? I did not expect you to be awake."

"I could say the same thing to you," said Byleth wryly. "May I sit?"

"Of course, my love." Edelgard unwrapped one side of the blanket and held it invitingly open. Once Byleth was seated, they settled in snugly, side by side.

A faint breeze stirred the garden, wafting the scent of carnations toward them. Edelgard spoke up, sounding a little guilty. "I had no wish to disturb your sleep--"

"You're trying to apologize for _that_, El? Need I remind you that I once slept for _five years_?" Byleth chuckled, and Edelgard managed a half-hearted laugh as well.

"I suppose that is true."

"You were having nightmares again."

"...Yes."

Byleth's hand found Edelgard's under the blanket. "They're gone, El. They can't do anything more to hurt you."

"They don't need to. They already did enough." Edelgard stared at the ground before sighing heavily. "There is still a part of me that remains imprisoned. I do not know if I will ever be free."

Byleth squeezed Edelgard's hand reassuringly. "You will be."

"I want to believe that... no, I _do _believe it," said Edelgard. "After what we have accomplished together, I have no doubt. But when all is dark and silent, I return to that place, and I am a helpless child again..." Her voice began to waver, her breath became uneven, and she shut her eyes tightly, as if willing away horrific visions.

"El," said Byleth again. "I'm here. _You're _here. Listen."

They sat together in silence--but it wasn't silent, not truly. The rustling of leaves and branches, their own breathing, the beating of an owl's wings, the chirping of crickets--and distant, barely audible, the breaking of waves on the shore.

Edelgard's breathing steadied, and her white-knuckled grip on Byleth's hand slowly slackened. She allowed her head to fall to the side, resting against her wife's shoulder, and whispered, "Thank you."

She took in another breath to speak again, but Byleth spoke up first. "You don't need to say it, El. I understand. No matter what happens, you will never be alone again." Byleth pressed a kiss to the top of Edelgard's head. "I promise."

"Thank you, my love."

The two sat side by side, drawing comfort from each other's presences, as the first light of morning illuminated the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For thehaakun. started this with something fluffy in mind but I Accidentally An Entire Angst. maybe will have to try for fluff again in the future.


	9. Kitchen Duty (Dedue, Ashe, & Annette)

Ashe finished the last of his tea and leaned back in his chair, stretching. "I think that's enough studying for now," he muttered to himself. He'd been puzzling over a particular exercise for a full fifteen minutes now, and he was no closer to solving it then when he had begun.

_It's better to take a break now, and return to it later. _That was a lesson he'd been imparted a long time ago, when he'd first been taken in by Lonato. "Getting frustrated won't help you learn any more quickly," the old lord had often said, and Ashe had taken that advice to heart.

He put his papers away into his desk, picked up his teacup and saucer, and headed outside. The late afternoon sun had begun to descend, lengthening the shadow of the monastery's buildings.

As Ashe entered the kitchen, he heard the rhythmic clack of a knife against wood and realized that someone was already there. "Oh! Hey, Dedue!"

Dedue looked up from his cutting board for a moment and nodded a greeting. "Ashe. What brings you here?"

Ashe held up his cup and saucer, smiling. "Just thought I'd wash these, now that I'm done with them. After all, if I forgot about them, I might end up with a pile of dirty dishes in my room!"

"Hm. That sounds like something it would be preferable not to have." Dedue returned to slicing the onion in front of him as Ashe went to the sink.

"What about you?" said Ashe, wiping out the inside of the cup.

"Me?" said Dedue. "I am assigned to kitchen duty, so I am making a meal."

"Need any help with it?"

"Thank you, but I should be fine." Dedue slid the finished onion to one side to clear room on the cutting board and selected another. "I believe that Annette is assigned to assist me this evening."

Ashe chuckled quietly. "That doesn't guarantee she'll remember," he pointed out. "She has a tendency to get wrapped up in whatever she's working on. At least let me lend a hand until she shows up?"

Dedue smiled. "If you are insisting, then it would be rude of me to decline."

Ashe rolled up his sleeves and nodded. "All right, just let me know what I need to do!"

For the next half-hour, the two worked side-by-side. Dedue retrieved a haunch of meat from the cold-storage room and cut it into neat cubes, which Ashe browned in a pan. Some of the chopped vegetables were laid out on a rack and put into the oven to roast, while others simmered in a pot of broth. Before long, the kitchen was filled with a mouth-watering aroma.

"That smells divine," said Ashe.

Dedue finished wiping his hands clean before stroking at his chin contemplatively. "Divine? I would not go that far. Though perhaps if we added some fresh herbs for flavor..."

"Do you want me to go get some from the greenhouse? If you don't mind, of course."

"I trust you to pick out the right ones," said Dedue, nodding. "Go ahead. I'll mind the kitchen and make sure nothing overcooks."

"Okay, then! I'll be right back!" Draping a clean, dry cloth over his shoulder, Ashe headed off.

Ashe jogged down the steps, past the fish pond, and approached the greenhouse. From inside, he heard a voice singing enthusiastically. The lyrics made him grin. _I bet I know who that is._

"_Oh, late at night when the people are asleep,_  
_ Out of the mud the swamp beasties creep!_  
_They waltz together all through the night,_  
_And anyone who sees 'em is sure to have a fright!"_

Ashe cleared his throat as he came in, causing the singing to stop as Annette looked up from the plants she was watering.

"Eep! Oh, it's you, Ashe."

"Hey, Annette. I guess this solves the mystery of where you were," said Ashe.

Annette looked puzzled. "Mystery? Why were you looking for me?"

"Well--" Ashe began, but Annette cut him off almost immediately, eyes widening with horror.

"Aww, crap, that's right! I was supposed to be working in the kitchen! Ohhhh, I'm so, _so _late! Dedue's gonna be so disappointed in me--"

"Hey, slow down!" said Ashe, putting a hand on Annette's shoulder before she could start dashing around haphazardly. Knowing her, she'd be in danger of falling headfirst into a flowerbed. "It's okay, I was helping him out anyway."

"You were? Oh thank goodness," said Annette, letting out a long sigh of relief. "I mean, I still feel bad I forgot, but as long as he didn't have to do everything by himself..."

"There's still time for you to pitch in," said Ashe. "Actually, Dedue sent me down here to get some fresh herbs. If you're close to finishing up here, then you can come back with me to deliver them."

Annette nodded determinedly. "Leave it to me! I'll get it done!" She returned to watering with a vengeance, humming the Waltz of the Swamp Beasties under her breath as she did. Ashe considered the plants in front of him before settling on basil. He knelt down and trimmed off several leaves, placing them carefully in the cloth he'd brought from the kitchen.

After a quick mental comparison between the pile of basil and the amount of food that needed seasoning, Ashe nodded, satisfied. "That should do it." Looking up, he saw that Annette had finished with the plants and, having set down the watering can, was rinsing the dirt off her hands. "You ready to go, Annette?"

"Yep!" she said brightly.

"All right, then, let's head to the kitchen."

As Ashe went out the door, he heard a hollow thunk and an indignant yelp behind him. "Owww, who put that stupid watering can there?!" Then, in a quieter voice, "Oh, right, it was me..."

Ashe stifled a laugh as he led the way back to the kitchen. _This was exactly the kind of study break I needed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wife requested Blue Lions cooking content with Dedue, so I am here to deliver.


	10. Team Bergliez (Caspar, Randolph, & Fleche)

Randolph's face lit up as he noticed the poster pinned to the center of the bulletin board. "Ah, how nostalgic."

Fleche stepped up next to him, rolling her eyes. "It's just like you to get all fired up over a mock battle. I don't see what's so exciting about it, personally."

"That's because you never attended the Officers' Academy," said Randolph. He smiled, reminiscing. "It's a shame, really. I have fond memories of my days in the Black Eagles, and I'm sure you would have made many of your own."

"Perhaps I would have, if _someone _hadn't attacked the Academy five years ago," said Fleche, giving her older brother a sidelong, withering look. She only managed to hold it for a few seconds before breaking down into laughter, which Randolph was quick to join.

"I suppose I had that coming," he chuckled.

"So, how does this mock battle thing work?" said Fleche. Randolph stepped closer to the poster, looking it over.

"It seems it will be similar to how the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was conducted back in my day," said Randolph. "We'll be divided into teams, and compete to see who can vanquish the most opponents. Her Majesty the Emperor will even award a prize to the victors!"

"Does it mention how the teams will be divided?"

"'Those who wish to participate must register their commander and officers by the second week of Guardian Moon,'" Randolph read. "That gives us a week to put a team together--"

"What do you mean, _us_?"

"Well, obviously we're going to participate!" Randolph clapped Fleche on the shoulder. "It's an excellent opportunity to distinguish ourselves in action before Her Majesty. And besides, wouldn't you like to have some Academy memories of your own?"

Fleche smiled faintly. "I suppose when you put it that way..."

"Hey, Uncle Randolph!"

Caspar jogged up to them. "You seem to get taller every time I see you," Randolph observed, grinning as he and Caspar warmly clasped forearms.

"About damn time, isn't it?" said Caspar with a laugh. He gave Fleche a jaunty wave. "How're you, Fleche?"

"At the moment? Wondering how it is that my brother gets a title, but I do not."

Caspar wrinkled his nose. "I mean... it would just be weird to call you 'Auntie Fleche,' wouldn't it?"

"What do you mean, weird?" said Fleche, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, you're, like... tiny!"

"I beg your pardon!" said Fleche with an affronted huff. Randolph burst out laughing, and after a moment, Fleche also cracked a grin. "Well, I suppose that's fair."

"So, the two of you are talking about the mock battle, right?" said Caspar. Randolph nodded.

"I was considering signing up as a unit commander. If you haven't signed up yet, you're welcome to join my team--"

"Hey, you beat me to it!" exclaimed Caspar. "That's exactly what I was gonna ask you. I was hoping I could get one of my classmates to sign up with me, but they all turned me down."

"Oh?" said Fleche.

Caspar nodded. "Dorothea, Linhardt, and Bernadetta are all sitting this one out. Dorothea told me she'd be working as a medic on the sidelines, while Lin just said it wasn't worth the bother. When I knocked on Bernie's door, she told me she wasn't there. I heard Ferdinand was starting a team and thought I might be able to join them, but by the time I asked him he'd already filled all of the spots. Petra joined up with Ladislava's team. I asked Edelgard, but--"

"You asked _Her Majesty_?" said Randolph, mouth agape.

"Figured it was worth a try. I mean, we _were _classmates. But she turned me down for some reason." Caspar rubbed at the back of his neck. "And, well, I know better than to ask Hubert. He'd never leave Edelgard's side."

Fleche shook her head. "Is this your way of telling us we're your last choice?"

"What? No! That's not what I meant at all!"

Randolph grinned. "Well, regardless of whether we're your last choice or not, I think it's only fitting we all team up together. Let's show Her Majesty the strength of House Bergliez!"

"Yeah! Go, Team Bergliez!" said Caspar, pumping his fist enthusiastically.

Fleche looked from her older brother to her nephew and sighed. "Why do I get the feeling we're headed for disaster?"

~

_Postscript: In the end, Team Bergliez was the first group in the mock battle to be eliminated from contention, just as Fleche had feared. But thanks to Caspar and Randolph's shared strategy of all-out attack, they placed second in the number of opponents vanquished, which both men counted as a victory._


	11. Tightly Strung (Felix & Sylvain)

"Good work today, Felix! I'm headed out."

Felix glared over his shoulder, seeing Sylvain getting ready to depart the training grounds. "Leaving already?"

Sylvain chuckled. "What do you mean, _already_? I've already been here an hour. That's plenty."

"If you have no intention of improving, perhaps." Felix scoffed and turned back to his training. Professor Jeritza had demonstrated a new combat drill to the class that morning, and Felix had no intention of slacking off until he'd hammered it into his memory.

Halfway through the drill, Felix caught sight of Sylvain out of the corner of his eye. "You're still here."

"Yeah." Sylvain shrugged.

"So why'd you bother telling me you were leaving, anyway?"

"Because I thought you might like to join me," said Sylvain. He winked. "Plenty of pretty girls down in the town, after all. Even if you have about as much delicate charm as a battle-axe, I'm sure at least a few of them would find your whole 'brooding bad-boy noble' thing charming."

"I have no interest in being _charming_," said Felix. "Nor do I have any intention of joining in your frivolous excursions." He continued moving through the steps of the drill, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Sylvain whistled disarmingly. "I swear, Felix, you need to loosen up a bit. It can't be good to be so tightly strung!"

"If your definition of loosening up involves becoming as carefree and irresponsible as you are, I'll pass," said Felix. "Unlike you, I _do _wish to improve, so I won't neglect my training."

"First 'frivolous,' then 'carefree,' 'irresponsible,' and even 'neglectful?' You wound me, Felix." Sylvain put a hand to his chest in exaggerated dismay. "I'll have you know, these breaks of mine are an essential part of training."

"Really." Felix had hoped the obvious disdain in his tone would preclude any further conversation, but Sylvain seemed to have other things in mind. He strolled over to the weapon rack, selecting one of the training bows.

"See, it's like this," said Sylvain, twirling the bowstring around a finger. "When we put the bows away, we keep them unstrung, right?"

Felix sighed and stopped his drill, turning to face Sylvain fully. "Obviously."

"Right, because if we kept them strung all the time, that'd wear them out. The string could fray, or the staff could crack--"

"If there's a point you're trying to make, please get to it quickly."

"The way I see it," said Sylvain, "you're one of these bows. Except you refuse to be unstrung for some reason."

"Oh, for the Goddess's sake..." began Felix huffily. Sylvain cut him off, grinning cheekily as he returned the bow to the rack.

"See? Your temper's already fraying."

"You--" This time, Felix cut himself off. "Okay, fine, maybe you have a point. _Maybe_."

"So that means you'll come join me in town!"

"I never said that."

"C'mon, you know I'm right."

Felix rubbed at his forehead and sighed, muttering to himself. "Unbelievable."

"So, what do you say?" said Sylvain, a triumphant grin on his face.

"I'll... I'll think about it. On one condition," said Felix.

"And what would that be?"

"Spar with me."

"Seriously?" said Sylvain, clearly disappointed. "The last time we went head-to-head, I had bruises for weeks. That draws all kinds of inconvenient questions, I'll have you know."

"It's not my fault you leave so many openings."

Sylvain pulled a mournful face. "Yeah, but you could try not to hit me as hard."

"Well, that's my condition. If you manage to give me a real challenge, I'll join you." Felix gave his training sword a lazy flourish. "Hell, if you win, I'll buy your drinks myself."

"So now there's an offer of free drinks?" Sylvain stretched. "Well, then, if that's on the table, I suppose I should give it my best effort."

Felix smirked. "I won't expect _too _much."


	12. Should I Wade No More (Hubert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er." - _Macbeth_, Act III Scene IV
> 
> **Spoilers for Part I: White Clouds.**

A pall of mourning had hung over the monastery since the end of the Ethereal Moon. Students and monks alike spoke in muted voices, and even the sparring at the training grounds lacked its usual vigor. The professors were clearly trying to maintain an atmosphere of normalcy, but it was clear that their hearts weren't fully in it--especially with Professor Byleth a shell of their former self.

At a table in the quiet, darkened library, Hubert sat alone in thought.

Wallowing in grief was not productive: there was no use in wondering over what might have been, after all. Hubert had never been one for condolences; or even sorrow, for that matter. But to say he felt no emotion whatsoever would be a lie.

He was angry.

The death of Jeralt had not been necessary. From what Hubert had gathered of the man, he had no great love for the Church or the Archbishop, regarding both with rightful suspicion. Before Solon's actions in Remire, Edelgard had held out hope that Jeralt could still be an ally. For Thales to have Jeralt killed in front of his own child had been needlessly cruel. And yet, Hubert felt a twisted sort of admiration for the deed. The cruelty was the point.

Edelgard's alliance with Thales was a matter of necessity, not of choice. Without their help, Edelgard would have been powerless to stand against the might of the Church of Seiros. Yet Hubert knew how much it galled his liege to form common cause with the ones who had tortured and imprisoned her all those years ago. It was one of the reasons she had come to Garreg Mach, despite the danger of being found out by the Archbishop: she needed real allies, people she could trust.

With a single brilliant move, Thales had thrown all of that into chaos. The bond of trust, carefully nurtured between Edelgard and Byleth, was all but worthless now that their father was dead. For Byleth to join with Edelgard would also mean joining with their father's murderers. Without the professor's guidance and assistance, Edelgard would have only Thales and his ilk to rely on.

_Damnably clever of him. _Hubert's jaw tightened. _He means to keep Lady Edelgard isolated, presenting himself as the only one willing to offer help. Thus he hopes to bend her to his will._

Beneath Edelgard's steely resolve, Hubert knew her heart was beginning to waver. She hated to see innocents die, and hated herself for being unable to bring her so-called "allies" to heel. And beyond that, another thought gnawed at her: how many of her friends and classmates would she need to cast aside, or trample over, in pursuit of her ideals?

In the end, perhaps it didn't matter. Their path led into the future, forging ever ahead. To abandon it would be a betrayal of every sacrifice they had made to come this far.

_We must press onward, to ensure all the blood spilled thus far has not been spilled in vain._

Since the beginning, Hubert had cast aside any sense of guilt he might have had, all in pursuit of a greater goal. The path was clear ahead of them. He would walk it to the end, even if Rhea, Thales, or the gods themselves stood in the way.

Even if it led through a river of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2. The second piece will have a similar concept, but centered on the Archbishop.


	13. Should I Wade No More (Rhea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er." - _Macbeth_, Act III Scene IV
> 
> **Spoilers for Part II: Silver Snow.**

Rhea stood before the empty throne and prayed to a god she knew was dead.

Long ago, she had done the same in Zanado. Back then, she had been surrounded by her brothers and sisters, their voices blending in harmony with her own. Back then, there had been a god to hear them. Now, in the cavernous silence of the Holy Tomb, the sepulchered dead formed a mute congregation.

Zanado was no more. The Nabateans were no more: all trace of them had been swept away by the river of blood that re-christened their homeland as the Red Canyon. What remained of their lineage was a perverted mockery; a stolen bloodline, passed down by murderers and thieves.

Yet despite all of that, Rhea still strove to love humanity.

Their lives were fleeting in comparison to her own, but they were capable of so much, for good or for ill. Cruelty and honor, spite and kindness, consuming hatred and selfless love--she beheld all of it, often from the same people. They could be truly great, Rhea knew, if only they had a hand to guide them.

But that hand could not be hers.

Nemesis had inflicted a wound on her heart that could never heal. No matter her efforts to the contrary, there would always be a part of Rhea that could never forgive humanity for her mother's death. For Sothis's successor to scorn her flock, even in her most secret thoughts, would be akin to blasphemy.

No, Rhea could never _truly_ love humanity: not while the long-buried seeds of her grief still kept root in her heart. She was unworthy to guide them. The only way for humanity--for _Rhea--_to find salvation was by the return of the progenitor god.

That hope had been Rhea's guiding light for a thousand years. A thousand years of war and division, of bloodshed and betrayal. A thousand years of failure.

Time and again, she had tried to give the goddess new life. Whether it was by some imperfection of the vessel, or her own lack of faith, Rhea had no way of knowing; but time and again, her hopes had fallen into ruin.

And Fódlan had fallen into ruin around her. Humanity, consumed by their base instincts without the goddess to guide them, had pursued power and control for themselves, heedless of those who were harmed by it. The families Rhea's brethren had entrusted their bloodlines to were consumed by infighting and corruption, scorning the gifts of the goddess's children. The once-united land had fractured under the strain.

Rhea had returned here many times, always with the same prayer upon her lips. "Beginning of all life, arbiter of every soul, I lift my voice to thee. Goddess... _Mother_... please return to us. Without your wisdom, your children are lost. They need a guide to show them the right path."

Her prayers were always met with silence.

Still, Rhea hoped.

The goddess would never abandon the world she so loved. Even now, Rhea was sure that Sothis wept for the lives lost in humanity's wars: a flood that dwarfed the slaughter at the Red Canyon. It would continue without end until the goddess returned.

So, until the goddess set foot upon Fódlan once more, as she had in ancient times, Rhea would not falter. Not until she heard her mother's voice once again.

_No matter the cost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2. Rhea is really fascinating as a character, though she's also an object lesson in why you shouldn't bottle up your emotions for several centuries....... anyhow, since there isn't a lot of insight into Rhea's personal feelings in the game itself, this piece is mostly based off of extrapolation ^^;
> 
> (bonus points to anyone who caught the reference to "Jerusalem")


	14. Fish for Dinner (Ingrid & Raphael)

Ingrid’s eyes gleamed as she looked at the food spread out on the dining hall’s counter, and her fingers tightened around her serving plate.  _ So much fish… I can eat to my heart’s content! Should I, though? _

After all, the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was coming up at the end of the month. She had no doubt that Felix would needle her for thinking of nothing but food, even at such an important time for their house.  _ But it all looks so good… _

She felt someone bump her elbow, followed by a sheepish “Oops. ‘Scuse me, Ingrid.”

“Sorry, Raphael, was I getting in your way--whoa!” Ingrid’s eyes widened at the sight of the plate he was carrying. “Wow, I’m surprised you can manage to keep that balanced!”

Raphael glanced down at the tower of fish on his plate and shrugged. “Oh, I’ve had loads of practice.” He glanced at Ingrid’s own plate, still empty. “You feelin’ okay? You haven’t gotten anything to eat yet.”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” said Ingrid quickly. “I’m just not sure how much I should take.”

“As much as you want, obviously!” said Raphael. He chuckled. “Or I guess, as much as you can fit on your plate in one go. Wouldn’t want to drop anything on the floor.”

“I’d like to, but…” Ingrid scratched at her cheek. “The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is coming up, and I want to be in the best shape possible for it.”

“All the more reason to eat up while you can,” said Raphael. “You gotta feed your muscles if you’re gonna be working them out. Otherwise you won’t have any energy for training.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!” Raphael grinned broadly. “I don’t know much about Crests and magic and all that kinda stuff, but I know muscles better than anyone.”

“You  _ are  _ pretty impressive like that,” said Ingrid.

“Plus,” added Raphael, “there are so many fish in the kitchen from the tournament, it would be inconsiderate of us  _ not  _ to eat as much as we can! We want to have the food while it’s at its best, right?”

“Right!” Ingrid smiled, reassured. “Okay, I trust you to know what you’re talking about. Time to eat!”

“How about a contest?” suggested Raphael. “We’re eating to build up strength for the mock battle, after all, so I’m sure whoever eats more will be the strongest!”

Ingrid nodded, a spark of competition lighting up her eyes. “You’re on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this premise was revealed to me in a dream and also because I remembered they both participated in the fishing tournament for the purpose of eating


	15. Lazy Days (Hilda & Linhardt)

It had taken some trial and error, but Linhardt had located the perfect place to nap.

The training grounds were rarely in use between morning and afternoon drills, but they were also unacceptably dusty. The courtyard outside the classrooms was nearly ideal, with its lush grass and mix of sunlight and shade, but it was too central to be truly relaxing--a professor always came along sooner or later to bother him out of his nap. And the less said about his ill-fated attempt to nap in the stable lofts, the better.

But at last, he had found the perfect place. Off to one side of the cathedral of Seiros, there was a small garden tucked against the building. It didn’t have the soft grass that the courtyard did, but the benches were comfortable enough. More importantly, nobody ever went there, except for the monks tasked with watering it in the early mornings.

It came as an unpleasant surprise, therefore, to hear a girl’s voice calling his name.

“Huh? Hey, Linhardt, what are you doing?”

Linhardt cracked open one eye irritably. He recognized the intruder by her twin-tailed pink hair: Hilda, from the Golden Deer. “What does it look like I’m doing? And do keep your voice down. The last thing I want is for one of the monks to chase me away from here. I’ve only just discovered this napping spot, but I’m already quite fond of it.”

“Wow, you certainly don’t mince words.” Hilda blinked at him. “I mean, I guess you  _ did  _ bring your own pillow, so it was obvious you were napping… but you don’t have to be so hostile, you know.”

“Perhaps I do not  _ have to,  _ but that is my inclination.” Linhardt folded his hands over his stomach. “What are  _ you  _ doing, by the way?”

Hilda giggled. “Oh, you know, nothing much. Just looking for somewhere quiet to sit.”

Linhardt’s ears picked up the faint sound of the organ beginning to play inside the cathedral. “Meaning you’re here to skip out on choir practice.”

Hilda affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Whaaaaat? No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Eh, you can save it.” Linhardt covered up a yawn. “It’s not like _I_ care if you cut class. Not like it’s hurting anyone else.”

Hilda gave him a simpering smile. “Aww, aren’t you sweet.”

“I prefer ‘understanding,’” Linhardt retorted. “As in, ‘I understand how tedious it is to slog through busywork you have no interest in.’”

“Thank the Goddess someone else understands!” Hilda let out a long sigh and plopped down on the next bench over from Linhardt. “It seems like everyone else at this school is always harping about it, you know? Like, ‘Hilda, why aren’t you training all the time like everyone else does?’ Or ‘Hilda, I know you can do better. Why aren’t you doing better?’”

“I mean, that last question is fair--you probably  _ could  _ do better, if you wanted to.”

Hilda waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but then everyone would expect me to do that well  _ all the time _ , and that would be a total drag.”

“Also fair,” said Linhardt, covering a yawn. “I’ve never quite understood that mindset. It makes perfect sense for students to spare themselves the effort in some areas, in order to apply themselves more wholeheartedly to their own pursuits.”

Hilda sighed melodramatically, putting a hand over her heart. “To think I’d actually find a kindred spirit at the Officers’ Academy, of all places.”

“We  _ are  _ surrounded by overachievers, aren’t we?” Linhardt stifled another yawn. “Well, as pleasant as this conversation has been…”

“Oh, right. I’ll let you get back to your nap. And we’ll keep this a little secret, just between the two of us, right?”

“Indeed. I have no more desire to be found out than you do.” He settled his head back down onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

Hilda laughed. “Sweet dreams then, Linhardt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally I think it's a crime these two have no canon interactions


	16. Handwritten (Cyril/Lysithea)

Cyril let the last of his ink drip down into the inkwell before stoppering it and setting aside his quill with a heavy sigh. “There. All finished.”

Lysithea peered over his shoulder before giving an approving nod. “Very good. You’re definitely improving.”

“I’m glad ya think so, because I’m not really seeing it myself,” said Cyril. He massaged at his right wrist with the fingers of his left hand, then shook his right hand out, wiggling the fingers. “The only thing I’ve noticed is that I’m getting sore.”

“Well, that’s fairly normal,” said Lysithea. “You’re not really accustomed to writing yet, and since the motions aren’t familiar to you, it’s only logical that engaging in them repetitively would leave you sore.”

“If ya say so. Does that mean that I’ll be less sore if I keep at it?”

“Mostly, yes.” Lysithea grimaced faintly. “Though even if you  _ are _ used to writing, doing too much at once can still be pretty hard on your wrists. I found that out the hard way more than once.”

Cyril glanced down at the drying ink on the parchment. Today, Lysithea had him copying sentences she had written. It was painfully obvious to him where her handwriting ended and his started, especially when comparing the same material.  _ Well,  _ mostly  _ the same material, at least. _

Lysithea wrote in a swift, flowing hand, and though her handwriting was not always the most legible, it was always elegantly formed. Cyril, in contrast, painstakingly drew out each letter. Though Lysithea had praised the technical perfection of his writing, he felt self-conscious at the length of time it took him to complete the exercises she assigned him.

“Now why are you looking so glum?” Lysithea demanded. Cyril jumped slightly at her tone.

“I just… uh, well, I guess it’s pretty obvious I have a long way to go, huh?”

“Don’t put yourself down,” said Lysithea. “You’re doing incredibly well for someone who’s just starting off.” Her voice lowered to a mutter. “Honestly, why Rhea never bothered to teach you these things is beyond me.”

“I’m sure Lady Rhea would have taught me, if she had the time. Running a church is probably a lot of hard work, right?”

Lysithea huffed as she took a seat on the other side of the table. “That’s no excuse for failing to see you properly educated. I mean, Goddess, you lived in a  _ school _ !”

Cyril had no response to that particular line of criticism. Once upon a time he might have rushed to the archbishop’s defense, but he’d learned that Lysithea was far more effective at debating than he was. And she  _ did  _ raise some good points.

Not that Cyril’s view of Lady Rhea had soured, of course. She was still the woman that had saved him, and he would always be grateful for that, but he’d come to recognize that even the archbishop had her flaws. He still respected and admired Lady Rhea, but he was not as worshipful of her as he had once been.

Lysithea hummed and muttered to herself as she looked over the parchment. “Yes, yes… good. Definitely getting better.”

With her focus entirely on his work, Cyril allowed himself a slight smile as he watched. There was something so quintessentially  _ her  _ about the way Lysithea’s brow furrowed when she was concentrating, and the way she softly clicked her tongue when making corrections.

_ I wonder if I got the last bit right, _ he thought.

Lysithea’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back and stood. “This is…” She cleared her throat. “All of it is very good. Well done, Cyril.”

“All of it?” said Cyril.

Lysithea nodded quickly, and Cyril thought he could see a bit of pink in her cheeks. “Yes. All of it.” She nodded again, as if to reassure herself. “In any case, I need to… uh, that is, I should be on my way. Professor Hanneman is expecting me.”

“All right,” said Cyril, a bit confused by her sudden brusque manner.

“But,” said Lysithea--and now she was  _ definitely  _ blushing--”if you’re around later tonight for dinner… no, I mean, let me know when you’re done with your work tonight, and we can eat together. I’ll wait for you. Okay, bye!”

She rushed through the last few sentences, almost tripping over her words, and fled the room after pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Cyril’s parchment remained on the table where Lysithea had left it. He walked over and scanned it. At the bottom, he’d written down something outside the normal curriculum.

_ Thank you for teaching me, Lysithea. I love you. _

He smiled. Just below it was written, somewhat shakily, in Lysithea’s hand:  _ I love you, too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the support conversations for these two were so freakin cute


	17. The Emperor's Lances (Ferdinand, Ladislava, & Lorenz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three commanders of the Myrddin garrison share a quiet moment in the calm before the storm.

On a balcony overlooking the Airmid River, Ferdinand and Lorenz sat together over morning tea. It had become a ritual of sorts for the two of them: some attempt at preserving normalcy, even in the midst of war.

"Masterfully brewed, I must say," Lorenz remarked, taking a sip from his cup. "This is the Hresvelg blend, is it not?"

"Indeed. Provided to us from Her Majesty's personal stores, in fact." Ferdinand inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma. "I cannot help but appreciate her generosity."

Lorenz smiled. "What a difference a few years can make."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Simply that during our academy days, one would be hard-pressed to hear you speak well of Lady Edelgard."

"That is not true!" Ferdinand protested. "I have always admired Her Majesty..."

"I do not dispute that, but for a long time that admiration manifested only as a desire to best her."

"I could say as much for your own 'rivalry' with Claude!" said Ferdinand, scoffing. Lorenz winced.

"A fair reprimand..."

"Pardon me, gentlemen," a voice interjected. The pair turned in their seats to see a woman in armor stepping outside to join them. "A moment of your time?"

"Of course, Lady Ladislava," said Lorenz. "Would you care to sit with us? I can fetch another teacup."

Ladislava shook her head. "I am no lady, Sir Lorenz: simply one of Her Majesty's generals."

"That would put us at equal standing within the Imperial army," said Lorenz. "But you have been in the Emperor's service longer than either of us, so in that respect it is only fitting to view you as our superior."

The general cleared her throat, evidently a bit embarrassed, but smiled nonetheless. "When you put it that way, it would be rude to refuse such a gallant offer."

"Splendid!" Lorenz pushed back his chair. "I'll be but a moment."

As he headed back inside, Ladislava took the offered seat, nodding to Ferdinand. "Duke Aegir."

"Just Ferdinand, please." Ferdinand looked contemplatively at his cup. "In the future Edelgard fights for, such titles will be a thing of the past."

Ladislava shrugged. "Be that as it may, deference to nobility will be difficult to unlearn." She glanced back over her shoulder. "I must say, I am surprised that Sir Lorenz would choose to support a world without nobility. He has always seemed so proud of his lineage and status."

"Lorenz is quite the odd one," said Ferdinand, chuckling. "His view is that the nobility exists to protect the people. If the people are capable of protecting themselves, that duty will cease to be necessary."

"Pardon the delay," called Lorenz, emerging from the building with a teacup and saucer in hand. He set it down in front of Ladislava and returned to his own seat as Ferdinand poured her tea. Only after the general had taken a few sips did Lorenz speak again. "So, what was it you wished to speak to us about?"

"We have caught wind of enemy troop movements in Leicester," she said. "Soldiers loyal to the crown of Faerghus have passed through Ailell and are marching south. It seems that the Grand Duke's own forces are on the move, as well."

"Strange," said Ferdinand with a frown. "After years of barely stirring, both our foes choose this moment to make their move."

"What do we know of their numbers and disposition?" said Lorenz.

Ladislava shook her head. "Too little. Their patrols make it difficult for our scouts to get close. However, their target seems clear enough."

"Quite so." Ferdinand sighed. "Any hostile force hoping to march into the Empire must first secure passage across the Airmid. Here at Myrddin is the only suitable crossing point for an army."

"So they are bringing the battle to us at last." Lorenz settled his cup back into its saucer. "What do you make of our chances?"

"Without knowledge of the enemy forces, it is hard to be sure," said Ladislava. "Her Majesty the Emperor is preparing to set out with a relief force, but it will be some time before she arrives."

"What of our other allies in the area?" asked Ferdinand.

"If you mean the Weathervane," said Lorenz with a touch of scorn in his voice, "it would be for the best if we did not rely on him. If he senses the tides of war turning against us, he will either turn coat or flee."

"It falls to us, then." Ferdinand sighed. "So be it."

Ladislava's face was resolute. "Her Majesty entrusted the defense of this crossing to us. We must not fail her."

"We are the lance in the Emperor's hand," Lorenz declared. "So long as we draw breath, we shall keep her foes at bay!"

The double-headed eagle banner of Adrestia flapped defiantly in the wind above the Great Bridge of Myrddin. All the while, the enemies of the Emperor drew closer.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to post most of these on [my tumblr](https://occasionallydiverting.tumblr.com/) as well, so you can click the heart multiple times and I can watch my notes go up...
> 
> if you wanna send me (non-spoilery) prompts on tumblr via the askbox that's cool too, or you can also [tweet them at me](https://twitter.com/Arvanion), or you can suggest them in the comments
> 
> please leave comments ;-;


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